Blatching
by Minus the Honey Bear
Summary: When Wen manages to catch a lucky break in the Quidditch world, the world she's wanted to be a part forever, her team mates rip it away from her and she's left with a job opportunity in snooty London and a flat with her muggle-loving kooky uncle. OW/OC
1. Prelude:  Letters

**When Wen manages to finally catch a lucky break in the Quidditch world, the world she's wanted to be a part of since before she can remember, her team mates find a way to rip her good fortune away from her and she's left with a job opportunity in snooty London and a flat with her muggle-loving uncle who managed to get himself discharged by using muggle sporting techniques in the game. She's lost, heartbroken, and homesick and on top of that, she's taken the job she didn't want, and the whole world knows it because of her brilliant broadcasting skills. Wen has no idea what to do, or who to befriend or even where the good food is in this God-forsaken town and desperately is wishing for any team to pick her up again, even if it's the bloody Falcons, whose name always manages to leave a dirty taste in her mouth.**

**Oliver Wood, on the other hand, has played six successful years for Puddlemere United, only one of which was on the reserve team, but due to a recent injury during a Falcons match, his contract had been severely shortened and he might only have another season or so playing the sport he truly loves. He's twenty-four, very famous, reasonably popular and the Quidditch circles jump over themselves to welcome him with loving arms. However, Oliver's cool facade won't last long. He has no clue what to do next, after his career as a profession Quidditch star is terminated and his parents are starting to bring up the issue of grandchildren, when he hasn't even met a girl who can tolerate his Quidditch obsession yet.**

**Wen and Oliver meet at gala thrown together by the least popular Quidditch society, The Protectors and Collectors of International Quidditch (The P.A.C.I.Q.) and find out that they may be able to be miserable in drizzling London together.**

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><p><span>Quidditch foul – Blatching: Applies to all players. It is when a person is flying with the intent to collide.<span>

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><p><em>Ms <em>_Dwynwen Angharad Maddock Cadwallader, Thursday, May 4__th__ 2000_

_Due to your outstanding break through with recent Quidditch history in Australia, we, the Museum of Quidditch History located in London, are quite happy to accept your finds and are also quite pleased to invite you over to London to uncover them at and opening. Details listed below._

_Sincerly,_

_Mr Thomas Michael Kaine_

_Museum of Quidditch Director_

_Head Office situated in London, England_

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><p><em>Dear Mr Kaine, Monday, May 8<em>_th__ 2000_

_Unfortunately I will be out of town at a ceremony celebrating the recent finds that I uncovered and will be unable to make it to the opening in London. I have recently discussed your offer of housing the memorabilia found, and have come to the conclusion that it is majorly Australian history and it will remain here in my home country with me. I am sorry for any disappointment this brings you. However, in a month's time I will be travelling to Europe to have an interview with __Kennilworthy Whisp, who wishes to update his history Quidditch book (__Quidditch Through the Ages__) and to write a new one, depicting the historical impact that England has had on Quidditch world-wide, instead of the beginning of the game. He plans to turn it into a trilogy; __Quidditch Through the Ages, Quidditch Through the Continents __and __Quidditch: The Astronomical Obsession of the Wizarding and Witching World.__ You are more than welcome to accompany me to the interview and ask any questions that you wish. Also, when I am across there, I will be more than happy to come and visit your display. I have been meaning to ever since I was a little girl._

_Eagerly awaiting your reply,_

_Wen Cadawallader_

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><p><em>Ms Maddock Cadawallader, Thursday, May 11<em>_th__ 2000_

_I inquire you to reconsider my last offers. We have planned the ceremony around you being our guest of honour and we would very much like it if you did end up coming. And, I believe that the historical founding's that you made were from British settlements with arguments that we had given the sport to the Australians but it died out when muggle convicts were sent over. Besides, you're Welsh._

_Mr Thomas Kaine,_

_Museum Director_

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><p><em>Mr Kaine, Tuesday, May 16<em>_th__ 2000_

_They were found on Australian soil, and legally they are classified as Australian property until the courts declare otherwise. I'll reconsider your offer to come to the opening of the new exhibit, and I will gladly bring across copies of the diaries, pictures, photographs et cetera, et cetera for you to add to your collection until further notice._

_Wen Cadawallader_

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><p><em>Ms Maddock Cadawallader, Sunday, May 21<em>_st__ 2000_

_I am so happy you reconsidered. It is only four days away until the opening, and I know that you won't be able to owl back in time, so I expect you to be there, greeting me at the front entrance at 6:00 PM precisely. When you arrive, we will be able to discuss what items you are ready to part with._

_Mr Thomas Kaine,_

_Museum Director_

_Ms Maddock Cadawallader, Friday, May 26__th__ 2000_

_The ceremony was a hit! Everybody loved you and thought the exhibition was daring and loyal to the sport. The copies went over magnificently and the entire British Quidditch world is blown away from the history you uncovered. We now have a very realistic idea of the mysteries that before we hadn't known. Who would have thought that the very first society on Australian soil was Quidditch Unanimously Officially Proposes, Prevention of Dangerous Equipment (or, Q.U.O.P.P.D.E) which also served as a nickname to confuse muggles and keep those confounded convicts in the dark about magic! I can just imagine them saying, "Ready for a game of Quoppde?" And American Quadpot originates of the Australian Quidditch game that was originated from the British! Amazing stuff! And also the..._

_..._

_...Most of the Quidditch players enjoyed meeting you and are excited for another finding soon!_

_Thom Kaine_

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><p><em>Mr Kaine, Friday, May 26<em>_th__ 2000_ _Last night's function went very well, and a few of the players I talked to sounded generally excited about my findings and the history of the sport the entire world loves. I also loved catching up with my favourite uncle, and to hear his adventures since he was discharged from the Magpies. However, I am a Quidditch player first and foremost and the historic items I found was largely a coincidence matched with spring cleaning, so I will not be going out of my way to play historian. I have been offered a place on the Moutohora Macaws as chaser, so I will be maintaining my Quidditch focus as a main career for now. It was very nice meeting you at the gala and I wish you the best for the future._

_Wen C._

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><p><em>Ms Maddock Cadawallader, Saturday, May 27<em>_th__ 2000_

_Of course! I wish you the best for your future. You really must come by and visit from time to time. You can be my guest at the Historic Fields and Guilds Annual Luncheons whenever you please. __They'll be so jealous I'll be the bell of the ball__ You'll be highly regarded, especially if you come as my guest._

_Thom Kaine_

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><p><em>Ms <em>_Dwynwen Angharad Maddock Cadwallader, Monday, June 19__th__ 2000_

_It has come to our attention that you have been conversing with Mr Thomas Michael Kaine, London museum director of the Museum of Quidditch. We are writing about an unfortunate matter. It appears that Mr Kaine has passed away last night and we are now lacking a museum curator. Due to the disbandment of the Macaws, the Quidditch team you currently play for, we believe, due to the recent drug allegations of three of your team mates (and don't even get us started on the reserve team. I had 15 galleons on the bloody team to beat the Falcons and then this came up and you had to bloody well pull out!) We believe that you would be the perfect candidate for his replacement._

_Deepest condolences,_ _Sigmund Hofstadter_

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><p><em>Mr S. Hofstadter, Saturday, June 24<em>_th__ 2000_

_My, that's horrible! Mr Kaine and I were not close in any sense but still his passing is quite unexpected. I will consider your proposal, but, as I have said many times before, Quidditch is my love and my first priority. I will have to see how the testing goes and whether my spots on the other teams have shut._

_I will reply to you with a definite answer shortly._

_Dwynwen __Maddock Cadwallader_

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><p><em>Ms D. A. M. Cadawallader, Wednesday, June 28<em>_th__ 2000_

_He died by hippogriff. Situation unknown._

_Sigmund Hofstadter_

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><p><em>Mr Hofstadter, Sunday, July 2<em>_nd__ 2000_

_Hippogriff? Really? I'm not sure how to reply to that. Where on Earth did he find a hippogriff? Why on Earth was it in London? What purpose he did want from it? The Macaws will unfortunately not be playing for another season or two since the ban, and, at that time, I will be unemployed. I will happily take up your job opportunity as a temporary replacement of Thomas Kaine. _

_Please, send me details soon._

_Dwynwen C._

* * *

><p>A brunette wrapped a brown leather string around a thick pile of parchment, sighing at the five pages of parchment that Thomas Kaine had sent her about his favourite things he had seen at the gala. Five pieces of parchment wasted on things she already knew and had already awed over. She was happy that she no longer had to correspond to that stuck up pom and was happy that she never had to worry about being impolite to him again. She was rather saddened at his death, however, but it was the awkward sad, similar to being invited to a cousin's funeral who you didn't know all that well. She stuffed the pile of letters into the side of a big, bright green suitcase and zipped it up before placing it with the others. Her brother and father, Owen and Sul respectively, Began to take her luggage to the fireplace in the backyard (it was less of a fireplace and more of a winding brick lane tunnelled by trees that led to a brick fire pit with a barbeque in one corner and fluffy cushions around one quarter of the circular pit). Her mother, Maud, and her sister, Delyth, wish her their best before hugging and crying and then, in typical Maddock Cadawallader fashion, going down the hall to cook the men dinner. "Guess I'm really going to London, then," Wen muttered to herself, a Welsh accent overriding a smaller Australian one, before picking up a cream fancy duffle bag and using to floo to get to Parliament House.<p> 


	2. Invite

**If I owned Harry Potter, I would have put all of my earnings into trying to create an actual flying broomstick, or, the very least, a unicorn.**

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><p>After having successfully made it to Parliament House, Wen followed two other wizards down a long, carpeted hallway (recognisable by the Magical Politian Buttons on their crisp shirts, made legal and necessary to wear in the late '70s as to not accidentally break the secrecy law and ask a muggle Politian "How do I get to the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects?") to a distribution board. The two men ran their wands down one side of it and it opened up to the magical part of the Australian government. It was a big, air conditioned open room with a high white Victorian ceiling and threadbare grey patterned carpets. The room might have been seventeen stories high with balconies and offices on every level.<p>

Wen, after glancing around and trying her hardest not to get lost amongst the witches and wizards who knew their ways around and the obviously foreign guests who were blundering around like her, noticed a transportation stall over on her left, so she made her way over, dragging two very heavy bright green suitcases, three rusty orange kit bags, her cream carry on duffle and her oversized brown leather tote behind her. Thankfully, there were no injuries.

"Hi," She said brightly, greeting the woman at the desk. "My name's Wen Maddock Cadwallader, and I'll like to have one ticket for the 12:34 motus to Vauxhall, just outside of London, England, please."

"Oh, that's lovely dear," The woman smiled happily back, relieved that it wasn't another grumpy overseas customer who couldn't speak English. "First, though, I'll need to see your Witch or Wizard Identification Document, your alacermotus pass and I'll have to have Mr Meriwether here examine your wand."

Wen reached into her tote and pulled out the necessary documents before placing them on the counter. With a smile, the witch continued, "Now, ah, yes, let's sees here. Dwynwen A. Maddock Cadwallader, twenty-two years of age, completed nine years of Eynesbury Academy in Caxton house—my son was in that house. You might know him, Simon Jones? He decided to go into musical arts, bless his soul."

"Oh yeah, I think I talked to him once or twice, the name sounds familiar," Wen lied through her teeth. The name did sound familiar, but after all she went to a school for Australian witches and wizards and there was a grand total of about fourteen thousand students spread over 14 year levels, then again divided by the eight house, meaning there was approximately 125 students in each house in each year level. If Wen had happened to run into him, especially since she focused on Quidditch and Charms, while he studied music, they probably wouldn't have had a lot to say to each other.

"Oh, yes, of course you would have!" The mother beamed proudly, "And, oh! You managed to get accepted into Lambeth Institute for Quidditch in year seven. Do you play professionally?"

"I do—well, I did, anyway. I recently got a job opportunity in London which I accepted instead."

"Oh, yes, I hear it's incredibly hard to maintain that standard of professionalism in Quidditch. One of my friend's nieces was accepted into Lambeth and she dropped out because of the stress and pressure they put on the students."

"Well, I managed to graduate," Wen laughed, hoping to move onto getting her ticket accepted.

"Well, everything seems to be in order at any rate," The woman hummed, "So, here's your pass," She swiped it through a muggle contraption that turned it blue, ready to be used for a long distance trip, "And once you get there, you'll have a day or two to get settled in and to visit the ministry and talk to them about your new job, and how long you're staying, and where you're staying, and whether you'll be planning to travel around the UK and things like that—ask for Mary-Beth Hyde, she's lovely and she'll get you settled in as quick as possible. Once you arrive in Lauxhall there are two ways to get to London, The Knight Bus and there's also a fireplace which you can get free floo powder if you go directly to The Leaky Cauldron, that's in London. Are you following me, dear?"

"I was just planning on walking, actually," Wen muttered, reading over the directions that the woman had been kind enough to write down. She supposed it would be a better idea to follow the woman's advice, Wen thought, glancing at her luggage.

"Now, your wand please, and we'll have to check your suitcases for any charms of illegal magical objects, thank you," The woman went on, passing a neat leather document holder over to Wen with the necessary travel slips tucked neatly inside. Wen reluctantly passed over her wand (12 ¾ inch, willow, swishy with dragon heartstring with a gentle lilac colour and cream vines climbing to the tip due to a Charms fiasco with her brother a few years ago) and the lady gave it to the burly man on her right, who placed it into a special semi-circle shaped dish where yellow sparks began to erupt. Wen resisted running forward and pulling her most valuable item (well, second most, her first being a collection of vintage brooms that went far enough back to the fiftieth game of Quidditch in Wales or something) back into her square, oversized tote. Thankfully, Wen's wand was returned to her rather quickly and she stuffed it safely into the front pocket of her shorts.

She followed the lady's directions to the end of the hall and took a sharp right, through a large door painted black with _Alecermotus_ written in large golden plates in an arch, _Fastest Overseas Transport for the Adventurous Witch or Wizard (Since 1952 A.D.)_ was written below it in fancy, sparkling letters that glittered and rotated quickly around the vicinity. Wen showed her documents to the security guards standing by the door before pushing the heavy door and making her way onto the platform.

The alecermotus, created in 1952 when the need for quicker, safer transport than a portkey came to light, was a fast, fully covered cell-like device that could have easily have come from a Doctor Who episode, Wen mused. The platform was split into seven of them, one for every continent and one for immediate transport for ministry officials. Wen glanced up at a timetable above the heads of the numerous other passengers and saw that hers was scheduled to leave at the same time and that it would take about fifteen minutes to get to London expecting that there were no delays. Sighing happily, Wen glanced at her watch (12:31 PM) and realised that she had to get a move along if she didn't want to miss it.

"I knew I should have gotten here a half-hour early," She grumbled, now regretting letting her mother trick her into sleeping in this morning. She raced down the glass platform as quickly as possible with her luggage heavily behind her and, fortunately, quickly found a place to sit on the motus before it went speeding off to London. Wen's motus had arrived two minutes late (there was a complaint in the food compartment which caused a minor hold up among passengers and workers alike) but still, it was better than flying over. She quickly stepped off to one side of the platform where the (rude) British people weren't trying to shove their way onto the device, and gathered her bearings. She quickly dug through her pockets and found two galleons, and opted to take the Knight Bus to her uncle's flat overlooking St James's Square. She took out her wand, walking to the exit of the building and waved her wand into the night sky, hoping it would come swiftly so she wouldn't have to feel the cold air of the typical English night. She had dressed for the season, but it was still chilly compared to the fourty degree Celsius summers she was used to having in purple bus pulled up quickly enough and she boarded, payed her fee and was at her uncle's flat within minutes.

Upon opening the door, Wen was immerged in everything sports, from wizarding to muggle, American to British, points to goals, fields to pitches... It went on and on and covered the entirely of the otherwise modern sitting room/kitchen/dining. She heard a deep snore coming from the left of the apartment and so turned right, making her way down the other hallway. The hall was lined with big Magpies posters, moving, obviously, which Wen couldn't help but love immediately on site. She quickly made her way past them, however, and to the end of the corridor, opening the room directly in front of her. It was a pokey bathroom which served to be hers alone as well as the main one for guests. So, she turned to her right and opened the next door. Also, a rather modern yet girlie set up, but this time a bedroom with a wardrobe and a full mirror. She noticed happily that in the corner was a shelf to place her broom, to fold her Quidditch robes (all school, practise, casual, formal, professional and game ones) and a place underneath that for her servicing kit and numerous Quaffles (which she collected also). Wen, not feeling tired in the slightest (after all, her body was under the impression that it was one in the afternoon instead of fourty thirty AM), started to unpack and then wander into the kitchen to make lunch. Breakfast. A meal to sate her hunger.

At twelve PM London time, Wen arrived home after her trip to the ministry to find her uncle was now awake and trying to play hacky sack. He was quite good at it, as well.

"Wenny," Uncle Alasdair greeted her with a warm smile. He was still quite young, being a 'mistake' by her grandparents and was fourteen years younger than her mother's 42. He grew up being an uncle to her siblings and her, and he was quite use to being seen as an adult figure, and had been throughout his Hogwarts career, and so had no problems with welcoming her into his house and being a parenting figure to rely on for her stay in London. "I see you got all set up in the guest room," He continued, "Even flaunting that custom broom I bought you six months ago for your birthday."

It was true, the rich ex-player had indulged all of his nieces and nephews this year with custom brooms suited to their positions, even though Del couldn't stand the game and hadn't since Owen and Wen hadn't held back at Shuntbumps fifteen years ago. She ran inside crying hysterically after being knocked off her broom for the hundredth time in one morning. After that, the game was banned from the Maddock Cadawallader household.

"Yeah, I have. Thanks so much for letting me stay here again, Uncle," Wen hugged him happily."Not a problem at all. The company's great!" Wen didn't doubt it. The Quidditch circles worldwide had been less than impressed at his sudden interest in muggle sports and people, those thought to be close friends, had left him to haver on about them to a select few. Namely, the magpies and his old Ravenclaw school friends.

"Oh well," She sighed, as if she hadn't been thinking about her uncle's sudden lack of popularity, "I start work the day after tomorrow, but they want me to come in later tonight to give me the keys and whatnot." Wen wandered over to a pile of parchment stacking up under a miniature muggle billboard that advertised for free mail delivery. Picking it up, she began to sort through it.

"Leave those, Wenny, there's nothing of interest in there," He muttered, returning to his hacky sack. It was true, Wen mused, just a few junk mail advertisements and some magazine subscriptions. Wen stored Which Broomstick, the sports section of a British newspaper titled The Daily Prophet, a draft of Whisp's Quidditch Through the Continents which she had asked to be sent to her uncle's address last month, and, surprisingly, Challengers in Charming, which her uncle must have subscribed to when he found out Wen was coming, all under her arm for reading later on. She continued through it when another envelope caught her eye, the word _Quidditch_ standing out. Without seeing what it was regarding to, she tore it open and quickly read through it.

_To those who received invitations,_ (Not a particularly good start, Wen mused.)

_It is that time of year again where the World Cup is about to kick off and the final matches are taking place to determine who the two lucky teams facing off will be, which means that it's also time for our annual Pre-Quidditch World Cup celebration party held by the honourable Protectors and Collectors of International Quidditch Society on the 1st of August._

_AND YOU'RE INVITED!_

_Please, RSVP via owl to the main office in Bath or simply turn up on the night._

_Quidditch players, commentators, organisers, pitch builders, managers, pitch charmers, pitch managers, and authors are welcomed. Others will be turned away at the door._

_So come with us and create a magical night that will be recorded in our neat and organised archives!_

_Henry Gold_

_Protectors and Collectors of International Quidditch Society_

_Head of Parties_

"This sounds ridiculous," Wen announced, having read the letter over twice.

"Yeah, it is. Pretty much a bunch of wanna-be Quidditch moths plan some stupid party to try and live vicariously through real people. Sad thing is, most people turn up. Stupid P.A.C.I.Q.S. Nobody like them," Uncle Alasdair trailed off angrily.

"Then why do people go?" Wen muttered, before rolling her eyes.

"It's the first party come end of Quidditch season," Her uncle shrugged.

"And a bunch of snobby, geeky historians host it?" Her uncle, giving her an odd look at the slight American slang, nodded.

"Most people socialise there. That's how I got my position as chaser of the Magpies. I told funny stories at that event and the captain liked me enough to pull me out of the reserves and onto the actual team." Alasdair Maddock hadn't been as lucky as "Dangerous" Dai, one of his Ravenclaw teammates, a Beater, or Oliver Wood, another Hogwarts graduate, who had only been on the reserves for eleven months before being put onto the team. Her uncle was a fabulous player and everyone thought he'd be on the reserve team for a maximum of two years, if that, but his coach kept overlooking him for some odd reason. That's when he turned to muggle sports, at the young age of 25, three years previously.

"So, if I turn up and socialise a bit, I might make it into a Quidditch team's view?" Wen asked, a plan forming in her head.

"Perhaps," Her uncle shrugged, not really caring much for the conversation. Wen got the feeling that turning up to this party would be the equivalent of her gatecrashing her cousin's friend's eight year old birthday party. "But don't you already have a job?"

"Uncle," She snapped in a 'duh' tone, "I'm a museum director for some museum that I've only ever been to once in my life and, frankly, wasn't too impressed with. I'm going to hate the job. I'm a chaser, not some boring historian who'll be promoted to "Head of Parties"."

Her uncle shrugged, trying not to rile her up too much, "I think you should stick to your commitments, personally." Wen rolled her eyes and stormed to her bedroom ignoring the lack of support from her family to do the one thing she truly loved. She slammed the door shut and immediately began tearing through her closet for summer dresses that were function-appropriate, the mail disregarded on her floor.


End file.
